Fright or Flight
by Bradrdaniel
Summary: A young man himself dropped into a battle of wills between classic slasher movie villains. Chaos and some hilarity ensues.
1. Ep 1

You know… I never wanted any of this. The fame. The glitz. The glamour. The massive armory in my garage. I was content to keep living my life out in that hole-in-the-wall rental store, handing out old copies ofField of Dreamsto 40-somethings who had a free afternoon and a case of beer to drink. I was content to keep attending that dead end community college, get an associate's in liberal arts, or whatever the hell I thought I was getting out of that. I just wanted to coast. Live life day by day, with no regard for anyone else besides myself and those close to me.

Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. I started to ramble about how my life sucks, completely without being asked to (although my life does not suck – it just turned out differently than I hoped). Hopefully you have no idea who I am, although you probably do, due to the aforementioned fame. It would be easier if you didn't know who I was, because then you could hear my story before you pass judgment on what type of person I am. Just know I never asked for this, and I dealt with it as best I could.

It started innocently enough. With a debate.

Over horror movies.

"Hey, fuck you, buddy."

The tallish man stood before me, clad in ripped jeans, a red flannel overshirt, and gray undershirt printed with what looked like the words "I don't care about apathy." He looked more or less like a sad attempt at a Kurt Cobain impersonator, minus all the angst.

"No need for profanity, bro. Just making a point." The words oozed out of his face as if he didn't actually say them, but drooled them, like speech made of saliva.

"Yeah. Your point being that horror movies shouldn't count as a genre of cinema," I responded. "Which is false, and quite ignorant."

The man's face began to show what I thought to be offense, but he couldn't generate enough facial articulation to emote.

"Ignorant? I'll tell you what's ignorant: your closed-minded appreciation for simple spooks and frights. I could get the same effect by going to Wal-Mart and spectating the make-up aisle."

A smug, triumphant look washed over my face. "Well, I suggest you go do that, and prepare yourself for the refreshing taste of mace. It's convenient you're going there to get a movie anyways, because you won't get one here. Get out."

"But –"

"Out. Now. Or I'll demonstrate whyHellraiserdoes indeed make for great cinema. Starting with your face."

The guy raised his hands in surrender and turned to leave. "Hey, man. Don't harsh my mellow. You're way too tense." He gently pushed the front door open, and it closed again with a jingle from the bell attached to the top of the door.

I exhaled deeply, plopped back down on my stool, and returned a badly burned copy ofHalf Bakedto its rental case. The data side still looked intact and flat, so I figured it was still safe to rent. It's not like anyone in this backwater town would care anyways. The demographic that the movie appealed to consisted of about seven people, living out of the back of an old bus, with a mermaid riding a unicorn painted across one side of it.

Pulling out my phone, I clicked the screen on to see that I had one text message, and one missed call. The call ended up being from my mom, asking if I'd stop to get cigarettes and milk on the way home from work. The text message was a different story.

The text was from a number I didn't recognize, and simply had the words "the first" at the top of the screen, followed by an attached image of what appeared to be bees, but the image was grainy, so I wasn't completely sure. It was definitely a swarm of something. I saved the message to my phone and put it away.

I went over to the computer, taking the burnt DVD with me, so I could return it back to the system to rent again (as if anybody else would want it). I scanned the DVD, and the name came up Falcon Ortega. Hippie name if I ever heard one, but who was I to judge? The information on the computer showed he still had another movie out,Pineapple Express, and I slapped my forehead. Now I had to call this guy and remind him he still had another rental out.

Picking up the crappy beige multi-line phone at the end of the counter, I punched in Ortega's home number. The phone rang a few times, and then went to voicemail.

"Hey, you reached the Ortega's: Falcon, Sunshine, Paisley, Spirit, and Arthur! Please leave a message, and have an enlightened day!" Then came a monotone beep. I stated, "Hello, this is One Stop Movies. We noticed you still have a copy ofPineapple Express, which was due back on the 18th. Please keep in mind that a 99-cent fee is applied for each day after the due date. Hope to see you soon. Thank you."

I hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and heaved myself off the stool. Looking at the clock, I noticed it was a few minutes till 3:00. Break time. Since I had no supervisor, I decided I could take an early break. I flipped the sign on the front door to "Return in 30 mins" and exited out the back.

Out behind the store, there was a collection of random things cobbled together to make a break room/smoking area: A few crates, an overturned trashcan with an old tape-deck boom box resting on top, and a massive wire spool, tipped on its side to serve as a makeshift table. A Styrofoam cup sat on top of the spool to collect all of the ash and cigarette butts, but as the ground was littered with them, it appears as if no one ever used it. A few wooden transport pallets had been dragged over from the concrete plant stationed behind the store, and stood end-to-end to make a sort of fence, completing the bounds of the break area.

I brushed a few cigarette butts from the top of the table nearest my crate and sat, pulling a magazine out of my back pocket. Before I could even open the cover, I heard some sort of clatter occur around the corner from my store, near the next store down, a Chinese food place. Curious, I returned the magazine to my back pocket and headed over there to investigate. I figured it must be the cooks throwing out the trash, but I was bored as hell, so if anything, I might just attempt a conversation.

But when I got there, I saw no one, and almost nothing, save a dumpster and one bag of trash on the ground.

"Hello? Anyone there?" I cried. Waiting a moment, I got no reply, so I shrugged and turned to leave. No sooner had I turned than I heard this horrible screeching sound, like someone was ripping steel apart. I wheeled around, and was dumbstruck.

A large man now stood next to the dumpster. The guy had to be over six feet tall, maybe 280 pounds. He was black, wearing a long trenchcoat and black boots and that was where normal looks stopped. His left hand was gone, replaced by the most wicked hook I had ever seen in my life, and that hook was buried in the side of the dumpster, resting in a massive gouge that I swear wasn't there when I looked there before.

During the process of picking my jaw up off the ground, something slowly began to dawn on me. I recognized this guy. No, I'd never met him before, but I definitely had seen him on TV. Using that hook to slaughter people.

It was Candyman.

I managed to regain control of my body from the paralyzing fear that gripped me, and began to inch back away from Candyman, but I never turned away. I couldn't. I was afraid if I did, I would lose sight of him, and that would be the end of me. What a way to go, too. Hook through the chest, dumped in a back alley. Not how I had pictured it, on the few occasions I attempted to.

"You… you're Candyman."

"Yes."

"But how… why… what are you doing here?"

"I must talk to you, not that I want to."

"Wait. I didn't say your name five times. You shouldn't be here. What gives?"

He looked over at the dumpster and tugged on his hook, pulling it free of the gouge, and taking a decent piece of metal out of the side of the dumpster in the process. Inspecting the hook for any damage, and finding none, he looked back at me.

"Like I said. I do not want to be here. But it is necessary. You are important."

"What? Important? To whom?"

For the first time, a smile crept across his face, which sent chills down my back, like a thousand spiders covered in ice. However, his words, ominous as they were, gave me some relief. I wasn't going to die in the next thirty seconds. I allowed myself to relax, and the fight-or-flight compulsion faded, but my adrenaline and attention remained at a maximum. Iwasdealing with Candyman here.

"You will find out. In time."

Candyman took a step towards me, and I responded with a step the same distance backwards. He looked me up and down, as if to inspect me, then rolled his eyes.

"I do not see how you could possibly be capable of the tasks ahead, or why you were chosen for them in the first place."

My mind raced, trying to make sense of his cryptic speech. Tasks? Chosen? I didn't want any part of this, whatever he was talking about. It's the Candyman, for crying out loud! Anything involving a horror movie villain was bad news, no matter how you sliced it (no pun intended).

"Then don't make me do it! Just go away, and forget about it!"

"It is not that simple. You, nor I, have any choice in the matter."

I sighed heavily, and shook my head in frustration. What could I possibly be needed for, not only by Candyman, but someone else who was handing orders down to him? Since when did Candyman answer to anybody? Then I thought, "Who is bad-ass enough to boss Candyman around?" and got really, really scared.

He then began to pace to the right of me, like he was beginning to circle me. He put his hook behind his back, and grabbed it with his other hand.

"You are familiar with the man who just left, yes? Falcon Ortega? Well, that man has something that is very important to somebody. And you will retrieve it. Understand?"

"No."

"What do you not understand?"

"Oh, I understand. I just refuse to do it."

He stopped, turned on a dime, and said, "Yes. You will." I looked up at him, wondering where this flare of defiance in me came from, and decided to ride its wave.

"Make me."

Candyman then leaned in towards me very close, and for the first time, I smelled a strong whiff of honey on the guy. He opened his mouth, and suddenly a dull drone of buzzing hit me in the face, startling me. Then, to my horror, a trickle of bees began to crawl out of his mouth, across his face, and fly closely around him in a tight swarm.

"If I must repeat myself, then no, you will not have to do it. But you will also be dead. So weigh your options."

I backed away from Candyman and his insta-swarm of what have to be very pissed off bees, and regained my composure.

"Fine. I'll do it."

The chilling grin crept back across his face, and he stepped back from me a few paces. The swarm of bees got thicker and angrier, until it engulfed Candyman completely, and after a moment, the bees began to disperse. Candyman was gone. But I heard one last echo of his gravelly voice.

"I knew you would."


	2. Ep 2

I pulled up the gravel road to the address indicated on the computer back at the store, 214 Birch Tree Lane. Upon arriving, I noticed there was nothing there but an empty lot. No building, no furniture, not even a tent perched in a far corner of the lot. I put my car, a beat-up Buick LeSabre, in park and got out, stepping out on to the gravel to inspect the place, or the absence thereof. Ahead of me, there appeared to be remnants of some possible structure, but the debris was far too burned and degraded to make that assessment. Was there a fire here? How long ago did it happen?

Falcon Ortega, as far as I knew, was still alive. He was at my store only a few hours ago, and this site sure looked like it burned down a lot longer ago than that. I stepped onto the empty lot and looked around at the debris, trying to make sense of it all.

Why did Candyman contact me?

What role was I to play in whatever he referred to?

What did Falcon Ortega, that weird hippie guy, have to do with this?

And why did I smell smoke all of a sudden?

Indeed, a waft of burning something enveloped me, and I began to look around at the debris to find the source. The lot looked like it had been long burned only a few moments ago, but as I searched, I did indeed find a small ember towards the center of the debris field. As I stepped in closer, the ember appeared to grow in size and brightness. Soon, I was hunched down over the top of it, peering at it closely, as the embers rapidly began appearing around me, just like the first did. Looking back at the original ember, it appeared to be growing even hotter, then actually caught fire.

Sensing something seriously screwed up was happening, I started to make my way off the debris, but was startled by an intense heat that suddenly fell upon my back. I glanced behind me and found the core structure not only standing, but completely ablaze. At that point, I just picked up and ran out of the once-empty lot at full speed. I barely made it off the foundation of the lot when something big took my feet out from underneath me and flipped me forward onto the front lawn, dropping me on my head. Everything went dark, then black.

Sensation returned to me, and I felt the grass prickling against my face. I was on the ground, face down, with the worst headache I ever had up to that point. Somehow I managed to gain some composure, and I blinked my eyes open. The overwhelming heat was gone. The roar of the fire was gone. I pulled myself to my feet and dusted myself off, and turned around to find the unbelievable.

There stood before me a fully constructed, undamaged two-story house. A gardening shed was attached to one side of the house, and there were even flower boxes (complete with blossoming flowers) hanging from the wrap-around front porch. I blinked again, trying to make what had to be a hallucination go away, but it persisted. This house was here, untouched, defiant to the laws of nature. There was no way this could be happening.

Then again, I also met Candyman earlier. So take that with a grain of salt.

Just to be sure this wasn't some illusion, or that I was drugged, or something else could possibly be making me experience something that couldn't happen, I slowly walked the perimeter of the house. I just had to make myself come to grips with what appeared to be a burned down, then un-burned down house.

After inspecting the outside and finding (surprisingly) no fault with it, I warily climbed the steps of the front porch, and approached the front door. As soon as I stepped up to it, I heard a definite click, and then a piercing screech as the door crept open on its own. From my vantage point on the stoop of the house, I could see a standard layout of domesticated belongings. Hardwood floor. Dated, but well kept furniture. Decent drapes hanging from lofty windows. It appeared to be safe. But I wasn't stupid.

Well, in retrospect, "stupid" wouldn't even begin to describe my coming actions, so relatively speaking, at that point, I wasn't stupid, I guess.

"Hello? Falcon Ortega?" I don't know why I thought there might be a person inside the house that just rose like a phoenix from the ashes, but it seemed like the right thing to ask at the time. "Are you there? Is anybody in there?"

From behind me, a low, raspy voice spoke, and the breath hit the back of my neck like a blowtorch, and it still gave me chills.

"I'm sorry. The Ortegas aren't here right now. They went out for stir fry."

I whipped around, and came nose to nose with sheer terror. He wore black pants and black shoes (both badly worn), a slim red-and-black sweater, and a black fedora. What skin his clothes didn't cover was burned beyond the point that medicine could help. And his left hand was gloved, and each finger tipped by insanely long blades.

Freddy. Krueger.

He brought that hand up to his face and licked the blade jutting from his index finger. "And as it turns out, I'm a hell of a cook," he growled. "Care to see?"

On that note, I bolted right, ran down the porch, and hopped the rail, tumbling onto the grass. I quickly regained my footing and continued, back to my LeSabre. As I reached my car, I turned back to see no one chasing me, and Krueger was gone. No trace left behind whatsoever. I got in my car and started it, threw the gear in reverse, and began to roll out when my back driver-side tire blew out. Almost immediately, the back passenger-side tire blew as well, then the front passenger-side tire. Finally the tire closest to me blew, the whole process taking only a few seconds. I sat in terrified silence, waiting for something to happen, and a loud tapping on my window broke that silence.

"Where do you think you're going? It's bad manners to run out on a perfectly civil conversation!"

Krueger's gruesome smile greeted me as his breath fogged the glass. He reached up with his free hand, grabbed the roof of my car, and ripped it cleanly off with relative ease. He reached into the car, grabbed me by my collar, and chucked me out into the yard, where I landed on my back, losing my breath. Krueger approached me, then stood over me, staring down over his sinister sweater.

"Listen, meatsack, and listen good. You go back and tell Captain Hook he can shove it up his ass! I'm not giving it back, no matter what! And there's nothing you, he, or anyone else can do about it. I'm Freddy fuckin' Krueger! I do what I want, when I want, and how I want to do it. Understood?"

I assumed by Captain Hook, Krueger was referring to Candyman. What could Krueger have that Candyman wants so badly? And how did Krueger get it?

Trembling, I nodded frantically, praying Krueger wouldn't turn me into ribbons and decorate a tree with my remains. He crouched down over me, and leaned in really close, so much so that I could see the muscle fibers in his face. "Good. I won't kill you yet," Krueger explained. "Because I want you to tell Candyman this. I want you to tell him… if he wants it back, he can come and get it."

Then, he bounced up, jumped back away from me, and waved with his blade hand, the kind of wave that uses each finger individually. He then reached back and slashed at the air, but cut open a massive hole… into nothing. This tear was suspended in mid-air, and showed someplace else through it, sort of like some mirror world, but not really. Krueger then jumped through, and the tear faded away, into nothing again. The maniac was gone.

After calling a taxi to get a ride home (which cost me an arm and a leg), I walked into my room and flopped onto the bed. I wanted to take time to reflect back upon what happened during my day, but I was afraid that if I thought about it, something related to it might happen again. I didn't know what powers were at work here, but I wasn't trying to make any waves that could draw attention to myself.

Finally, a thought occurred to me. I needed to make a phone call. My buddy Seth was my comrade-in-harm, my scare buddy. We had grown up together, and our collective hobby was scary movies. If anybody could help me make heads or tails of this, it would be Seth. I looked though my phone for his number and dialed it.

"Uh, hello?"

"Seth, it's me."

"Oh, hey bro. What's up?"

"We need to talk. I need your help."

"You okay, man? You sound shaken up. What happened?"

"Just get to my place. I'll explain when you get here."

"Um… okay. Sure thing. Gimme 20."

I clicked my phone off and tossed it on my bed. Then I drifted off to sleep, exhausted.

Seth woke me up shortly thereafter, joking about how Freddy was going to get me in my dreams. I replied dryly, "Ha. Ha," and rolled out of bed. "Dude if you only knew…"

"Yeah, right. Freddy'sreallygonna get you while you're sleeping. Sure."

I stared at Seth blankly.

"You're kidding… right?"

"Actually, that's what I needed to talk to you about." I recounted the day's events for him. Ortega. Candyman. Crazy unburned house. Krueger. I tried my best not to leave out a single detail. Seth flung his hands in the air wildly, and then plopped down onto my bed, staring off into space. After a moment, he looked over at me, with a bit more gravity.

"So… if I'm understanding correctly," Seth began. "And assuming you're not on LSD or something, then the situation is: Candyman has drafted you to get back something from Freddy Krueger, and this Ortega guy is involved somehow? What the jumping monkey fuck?"

I responded, "Close. Somebody sent Candyman to draft me. There's somebodygiving orders to Candyman.That's the scary part. I can't even fathom that." Seth took a deep breath, finally coming to grips with my situation. "Well, I suppose there's only one more thing to do. We gotta contact Candyman, and give him the news."

"No, no. Fuck that. I'm not going to actually make the guy come here. I want nothing to do with that." I stood up and walked away from Seth, shaking my head the whole way. "They can have their little disagreement without me."

Seth stood as well and put his hands on his hips. "It seems to me that you don't have a choice. Because your options are a hook or a glove, and neither ends well for you. So you gotta do this, man. And I'll help you."

I looked back at him, and he nodded reassuringly.

"Besides, how often do you get to live a horror movie? It's gotta be awesome right?"


	3. Ep 3

A short while later, I found myself in my bathroom. With Seth. In the dark. Only a single candle provided any light at all. "Well, this is awkward," I whispered. "Not something I ever imagined doing. Ever."

Seth put his hand on my back and smiled. "Relax, man. We're only gonna summon a horrible serial killer. It's not like we're gonna do anything weird together or anything."

We both turned and faced the mirror and chanted together.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Seth and I glanced at each other for reassurance, but I found none, and backed away from the mirror. "Fuck! I can't do this… Seriously, dude. I can't do it." Seth whispered back, "If you don't say it, I will. So say it." I returned to my place beside Seth and took a deep breath. On the exhale, I barely squeaked it out.

"Candyman."

I squeezed my eyes shut, as if to deny what I just did, and wish it away. But after a few moments, nothing happened. I opened my eyes, expecting to see Candyman staring back at me through the mirror, but I saw nothing but my and Seth's reflections.

Seth exhaled as well. "Nothing. No Candyman." I blew the candle out, and we exited the bathroom, returning to my bedroom. Seth gathered his things, stuffed his phone and keys in his pockets, and then headed to the door.

"Well, let me know if he ever bothers to show up. I'll get over here as soon as I can. Hopefully, I won't find you with a hook in your chest."

I cut my eyes at him cynically. "Thanks. Means a lot." Seth blew on out of my door. Plopping back on my bed, I drew a deep breath and contemplated the day. Man, what a day it was, too. Candyman, Freddy Krueger, and my idiot friend Seth actuallybuyingall these hijinks really happened. Perhaps it was good that Candyman never came. I don't know if a brain aneurysm would have helped my situation any, because that's what would have happened. Or maybe a hook to the chest. That too.

The only reason I knew that sun had risen was that a piercing beam of light sliced through the only gap in the posters plastered across my window. The light hit me square in the eyes, as I managed to contort my body (through tossing and turning) into a cross between a pretzel and embroidery. I grumbled and untangled myself from my sheets, and in the process I dumped all of my bedding and pillows onto the floor, leaving the mattress bare. I trudged across my floor to my bathroom for my morning piss and mouthwash, as was my ritual.

When I flicked the bathroom light on, I nearly shit my pants. Gouged into my bathroom mirror was a very crude message: "Don't call me – I'll call you". After I collected myself, I realized that was a message from Candyman, probably made by his hook. I picked at the lettering with a fingernail and found that he most likely engraved it with his hook, so I was just going to have to live with it. Being a part-time video clerk didn't afford me the budget to replace mirrors ruined by fictional serial killers.

My mind drifted to Falcon Ortega. What role did he play in all of this? Was it he who had what Candyman sought, or did Freddy? How did he get mixed up in all of this business? Was it Falcon who somehow managed to conjure Freddy Krueger and Candyman out of fiction and make them real? The questions flooded my brain to the point I physically shook my head in an attempt to make them stop.

I looked at the time on my cell phone and briefly thought I was late for work, but quickly remembered I had the day off, and breathed a sigh of relief. This afforded me more time to address the insanity that had taken over my life as of late. Setting to my usual household chores, I caught up on past-due duties neglected by both my slacker lifestyle and recent events. Over the span of a few hours, the dishes were washed, laundry was processed, clothes folded, and carpets vacuumed.

The chore I always saved for last was taking the trash out, as this forced me to experience sunlight. Being both procrastinator and agoraphobe, I doubly despised this menial task. I drug the trashcan around to the back door; to minimize the trip from one can to the next. I had no idea if there was a puncture in the bottom of the bag, and took no chances. I lifted the bag out of the interior can and turned to the exterior can. When I dropped the bag in, I found someone standing behind it. A very attractive someone. In fact, this someone looked downright heavenly.

The woman was clad in a simple white sundress that hugged her slender form, and she had a glow around her you could see for blocks. She had shoulder-length, platinum blonde hair that fell about her shoulders in wavy locks. I met her eyes at almost eye-level, dumbstruck by her beauty. She looked back at me, expressionless, and stepped around from behind the trashcan, at which point I noticed she was barefoot, which struck me as odd. The woman stepped to within a few paces of me, but maintained her distance.

"We need to talk."

"Who are you? What are you doing in my backyard?"

"I have much to discuss with you."

"Where are your shoes? Are you some sort of homeless model or something?"

"Listen!" That last word boomed with some extraordinary force, as if spoken through invisible concert speakers from all angles around me. The sound resonated in my chest for a few moments after the word hit me. Needless to say, this shut me right the hell up.

"You are being drawn into a battle for which you are unprepared, against forces you could not hope to defeat by yourself. It is critical you accept my help. Your life may – no, shall – depend on it."

I sighed. More help from beyond a veil I couldn't see. At this rate, random encounters were becoming commonplace, so the sudden appearance of a random ethereal hottie didn't surprise me as much as I thought it might. It did, however, get my attention.

My hands on my hips, I responded, "Well, I figured if Candyman didn't hook me, Freddy sure was going to think up something extra psycho to carve me up into. So I knew I was screwed already. How are you supposed to help me?"

"With this." The woman reached behind her back, and produced a small, semi-professional looking camera. She handed the camera to me and then took a small step back, possibly for caution's sake. I turned the camera over in my hands, inspecting it. There were no brand markings on it, or identifying marks of any kind, and it had a thin shoulder strap attached to it so you didn't have to constantly hold it when not in use. The camera looked like it required actual film, as opposed to just being digital, but when I popped the back hatch open to see if it was loaded, it wasn't.

I finally looked back up at the woman to respond, and she had taken a few more steps backward. I asked, "How is this supposed to help me? I don't even know where to buy film!"

"Just point and click. It will stop lesser demons and evils. The bigger ones… well, they will take more work. Please do not die." She turned to go, but I had one last question to ask:

"What's your name?"

"Hmm… good question. Just call me… Lauren. Until next time." She continued to walk away, towards a fence, but as she reached it, she simply faded through, as if either she or the fence wasn't there. I looked back down at the camera, and found the one identifying mark on it, etched on the inside of the back hatch door.

Camera Obscura.

Really imaginative.

"Dude, I think that chick stole this camera from my grandma. This gizmo dates back to the Stone Age." Seth turned the Camera Obscura over in his hands, examining it closely. "I can't even find the battery slot on this piece of junk."

I walked over to my bed and reclaimed the Camera from Seth and gave it another once-over. "I don't think it takes batteries. Probably runs on human souls or fear or something. There's no telling." I set the Camera down on my desk, sat down next to it, and propped my elbows up on the desk, resting my head in my hands.

Seth changed the subject a little bit. "So… was she hot?"

"Who?"

"The, uh… the ghosty, weird chick?"

"Lauren?"

"Yeah, Lauren. Weird name, too. She could have picked any awesome name in the world, and she goes with 'Lauren'? If it were me, I would have picked Aphrodite or Valkyria or something badass-sounding."

I turned to face Seth. "Well, first, I think she chose it to imply anonymity. She wanted me to know I had no business asking. Second, what does it matter? I thought Lauren fit her look pretty well. I have no issues."

Seth smirked, "You didn't answer my question, bro."

"You're right," I replied. "I didn't."

"Whatever, man. I was just asking." Seth scoffed and got off the bed where he was seated and walked over to my TV and cut it on. Hearing Jeopardy on, I turned around to watch.

Seth and I argued for a few minutes about who was cooler: Alex Trebek with a mustache, or Alex Trebek without a mustache. Right as I was about to make what I thought was a very decent point, the signal on the TV suddenly cut to static, startling both Seth and me. I got up and slapped the side of the TV, as if it would help. I immediately regretted it.

The first image to pop up was a bright white circle in the middle of a black screen, which appeared to be eclipsed by something, creating a very vivid white ring. A flash of static, then rushing water, like a beach, but the water was blood red. Another flash of static, then a shot of a chair sitting in the middle of an empty room. The chair suddenly shifted, then the image cut to the chair spinning upside-down in the air.

These images were familiar. I knew I needed to turn away and cover any part of me that could experience this. But I was mesmerized.

The static flashes and images got faster. A woman combing her hair in the mirror, and the woman's reflection smiles back. A man stares down from the first floor of a house, then turns away. A random cliff, with a fly walking around on the lens. A wire being extracted from some random thing's mouth.

I could hear Seth's panic, but only barely. All I could hear him say is "dude", over and over again.

The last image was a wide shot of a clearing in the forest, with an old cobblestone well in the center. The image lasted for a few moments, and then cut off back to static. A second later, our regularly scheduled programming resumed. We had apparently missed Final Jeopardy.

Neither Seth nor I moved for some time. He was the first to break the silence.

"Was that…"

"Yeah."

"And did we…"

"Yeah."

"We're screwed."

"I know. That was the video from The Ring. As in, we're gonna die."

Seth drew a big breath. "That phone's gonna ring any minute now. I say we don't answer it. If we don't answer, we'll be safe."

"Not gonna work, and you know it."

"We'll see. Oh, and not it! Y'know… for answering when itdoesring."


End file.
